


Practice Makes Perfect

by astrospecial



Series: ALL M/M Student Pairings [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rare Pairings, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/pseuds/astrospecial
Summary: Caspar has it bad for Claude. Obviously, that means he should wrestle him.





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> This is a part of a series where I'm going to write a fic for each M/M student pairing in FE3H (no Byleth, no Cyril, etc). There will be 78 fics in total.

It was something new Professor Byleth was trying, something to let them get to know new people and work on their combat and social skills. Byleth had randomly assigned Caspar to work on Claude’s gauntlet skills.

To be honest, Caspar had thought another person would never intimidate him after he had survived Edelgard. Edelgard was always studying, always planning, while Claude was lounging in the Golden Deer classroom. And even though Claude didn’t seem to train a lick when Byleth wasn’t forcing him, he had obliterated the Black Eagles in their first mock battle!

He remembered how Edelgard had marched into the Monastery, looking like she was already the Emperor in all her seriousness. With a look, she had said, ‘Caspar, I’m not taking any of your shit.’ On the other hand, Claude didn’t seem to be serious about anything but poisoning people. Caspar still wasn’t sure if that time Claude cooked for him was part of a scheme or if Claude was a terrible cook. 

It wasn’t a crime to feel threatened by this, by _ him _, especially when Claude could ruin his whole life with a well-timed wink. He could admit it. 

Part of the problem was that Claude was very attractive. One time, Claude passed him by and grinned like Caspar was his old buddy. Caspar’s brain stopped working, and he had tripped over his feet like an idiot! A crush wasn’t something someone could punch, so he waited for it to leave on its own.. But weeks had gone by and Claude’s voice still made his knees give. Linhardt was giving him hell about how he’d never even spoken to Claude before and was still acting like a village maiden. 

Now, thanks to the wisdom of their professor, he had his chance. Linhardt’s eyes were on him from across the training yard. Knowing Linhardt, he probably meant for it to be reassuring, but as it stood, it only added another person he had to impress with his lacking conversation skills. 

“You know,” Claude said, breaking Caspar’s blessed silence. Caspar didn’t trust himself to talk around Claude, not as Claude’s slender fingers fiddled with the lone gauntlet on his hand. They were an archer’s fingers, pretty fingers, and Caspar had to stop himself before that thought took itself where it wanted to go. “Usually I trust Teach, but this seems a bit...I never wanted to learn how to use gauntlets.” 

“I don’t know how good of a teacher I’ll make. I mean, I’ve never had to teach anyone before. No one’s ever wanted to learn from me.” Caspar bit his lip and clamped down on his next rambling sentence. Way to go, Caspar. Somebody laughed from across the yard, and he half expected it to be Linhardt when he glanced at him. But he had his head buried in his lap— must have decided he didn’t want to see Caspar make a fool of himself— and Hilda next to him was making a bracelet. At least he’d be a better teacher than either of them. 

Claude chuckled, and Caspar’s heart dropped to his stomach as his head whipped to look at him. His embarrassment had started earlier than expected! “What’s so funny?” Why did he even bother asking? So Claude could confirm that Caspar was a total dunce? 

“I’m just imagining a wyvern rider swooping down with one of these.” Claude punched the air with a few _ woosh _sound effects. “Think it would work?”

Caspar snorted— stupid, stupid! He covered his mouth with his hand, cheeks reddening. At least Claude wasn’t laughing at him. It was a bit pathetic how his chest was lighter. “You might break your hand.”

Claude hummed. “I’ll leave the brawling to the frontline fighters.” With that, he took off the gauntlet and dropped it on the floor. “So. I know I don’t really wanna learn anything right now, and you don’t really wanna teach me...how about we do something else?”

This time, his face was burning from the images and thoughts flooding his head. _ Something else _was, as follows: leaving the training yard, going to dinner, having a wonderful time, heading back to Claude’s room. It wasn’t his fault, though! He didn’t have a girlfriend, he wasn’t going to run around like Sylvain, and a boyfriend was out of the question. At this point, he was looking forward to leaving the Monastery so he could start a lurid affair and have some company other than his damn hand.

“Like what?”

“Do you know Almyran wrestling?”

Goddess, was Claude implying something? No, he didn’t need the Goddess to answer that question. What else was there to be implied from saying, ‘Hey, bud, we should get naked and slick ourselves up in oil and try to pin the other on the ground!’ 

“No!” 

“Kidding, kidding.” Claude put his hands up in surrender. Thank the Goddess Caspar hadn’t answered honestly. “Normal wrestling, then? Absolutely no oil, I promise.”

Caspar nodded but knew he shouldn’t have agreed. The last thing he needed with the image of a naked and shiny Claude was the prospect of him underneath him, his arms pinned and his breath heavy. His brain didn’t need any help in imagining how the crook of Claude’s neck would smell (sweat, the woods), or how warm his thighs would be pressed against his. Shit. “Pin for five seconds?”

“Fine by me.” 

They cleared their little spot in the training yard, and once they weren’t in danger of tripping over a gauntlet, they stepped back from one another. Caspar wrestled a bit when he was a boy, only informally. His father would make an arena, and he and the other noble boys (sometimes the commoners, too) would line up and have a tourney till the sun went down. The winner won bragging rights until the next one. Neither Caspar nor Claude had bothered to make a ring or set the rules for this match.

Caspar’s heart giddily supplied that it was an excuse to touch him. He cleared his throat. “Just so you know, Claude, I’m gonna win.” 

Claude smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You ready?”

Caspar didn’t give him the benefit of a warning. He rushed him, but Claude’s height (ugh!) gave him the advantage. With a little force and backward motion, Caspar’s back hit the ground and his breath left him in a huff. In the desperate struggle to break free of Claude’s pin, he had the cognitive power to think, ‘Claude’s hot when he fights,’ and ‘I can’t believe I lost that quickly.’ 

“That’s it, Claude! Finish him off!”

That was Hilda’s voice. Claude looked to her direction, and that was all Caspar needed. Caspar broke Claude’s hold, reversed their positions. It was quite unconventional for wrestling, not very effective, but it certainly sent a jolt to Caspar’s dick to have Claude’s arms pressed above his head. He looked as pretty underneath him as his mind thought he would, motionless except for the hard rise-and-fall of his chest. Maybe he knew that if he moved, they would rub against each other, and that would be— 

Lost in his brief daydream, his grip loosened. Claude sprang free, and like a true gentleman, gave Caspar a moment to stand. 

They watched each other at a momentary impasse. Caspar idly wondered if that was his or Claude’s point. Then came Linhardt’s impassioned cry from across the yard: “What are you doing, Caspar? Just kick him in the shins!”

Caspar laughed, turned to shout something that would get him a scolding from any faculty member, and Claude came after him. He was caught off guard, and it was even easier for Claude to pin him. Caspar didn’t have the strength to fight it. No man in his position could: not when Claude was almost sitting on him, somehow more breathtaking than Claude underneath him, and the pressure on his back and shoulders was so sweet.

He hoped that Claude couldn’t see the arousal in his pants. 

“Caspar? Claude? That does _ not _look like gauntlet practice!” Caspar groaned. Of course, the Professor had to come and ruin everything. Couldn’t she just let Caspar have this moment?

Claude stood and brushed the dust off his pants. His face was in shadows, his eyes burning. “I think I won,” he said with a wink, before pulling Caspar up by the hand. A glance downward. “Maybe we both did."

Caspar’s life was most definitely ruined.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! It was difficult shoving these two together but now I can't help but want to write a follow-up for these fools. We'll see. I also finally finished my GD playthrough and maddening BL is kicking my ass. :O
> 
> \--
> 
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